


For me there will never not be you

by There_Are_Things_I_Cant_Say



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of main character death, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-26 21:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/There_Are_Things_I_Cant_Say/pseuds/There_Are_Things_I_Cant_Say
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft comes home from a month long business trip to recieve terrible and heart crushing news. How will this affect the relatonship he'd set up with Detective Inspector Lestrade. Spoilers for THOB and TRF.  Originally posted on FF.Net under There-Are-Things-I-Can't-Say :) :) Enjoy :) Hope it isn't rubbish :) xx</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for THOB and TRF. Originally posted on FF.Net under There-Are-Things-I-Can't-Say :) :) Enjoy :) Hope it isn't rubbish :) xx
> 
> I do not own D: All rights go to Sir ACD, and Moffatiss, if they didn't then I'd be dead.  
> Commas are my enemy amd I don't know how to pagebreak I'm sorry D:

It had been an extremely long and exhausting month for Mycroft Holmes. Hours after hours of peace talks and governmental issues debacles had taken its toll on the forty something year old man, and all he wanted now was to go home. It wasn't that he didn't like his work, after all for years it had been the only thing he had that mattered to him, but now he had something else, something that made him believe that he could be a better person. He wanted to turn off his phone for the next four- no five days and curl up in bed, basking in the embrace of warmth and love that was always emanating off of his partner, even when he denied himself of it.

"Sir? Sir!"

Anthea's voice cut through Mycroft's train of thoughts, and he blinked in confusion before focusing in on his trusty assistant.

"Yes?"

"Sir, the Prime minister's PA wants to know if you have time to dine with Mr Cameron in the next week, what shall I say?"

She asked, concern colouring her tone as her eyes flicked from the Blackberry to her boss uneasily.

Mycroft bit back an extremely uncharacteristic groan, masking it by clearing his throat. "Hum, tell him that I will check my schedule and contact him as soon as possible, if you please."

"Certainly Sir."

Mycroft watched as Anthea's long thin fingers flew over her keypad expertly typing out the response that he had just dictated to her. Tedious, as his brother would say; Always the voice of pessimism inside Mycroft's mind.

"Oh"

Anthea spoke up again, glancing out the darkened window of Mycroft's car into the night.

"Sir this is your stop."

She smiled faintly and passed Mycroft his umbrella which was leaning by his feet as he opened the door.

"Thank you."

He accepted the object as he stepped out and raised an eyebrow, noticing the dark shadows under her eyes for the first time, illuminated by the dim light from the street lamp. It was well past two AM and Gilbert Street was deserted as it should be at this time of morning. He leaned in, tapping out a rhythm against the sleek black metal framework of the car.

"Take the rest of the week off Anthea, and get some rest. You deserve a break."

He told her and her smile brightened in reply.

"Thank you Sir, I have a date tomorrow night actually." She laughed and Mycroft allowed himself a rare smile.

"Well I'm glad. Good night Anthea."

"Good night Sir." Anthea watched as her boss let himself into his apartment building and waited until he disappeared from sight before tapping the driver's window glass as a signal to take her home.

 

 

Greg Lestrade blinked his dark eyes awake sleepily, as he felt the bed shift underneath him. 

"Murghwha?" 

"Not quite Gregory." 

Lestrade's eyes opened wider as a low chuckle came from his left and he was greeted with the amused expression of Mycroft watching him with an open fondness that he had only experienced a handful of times when the elder Holmes brother let his ice guard down.

"You're home." 

Lestrade grinned as he reached for his lover, then frowned and whacked his arm. 

"You could have let me pick you up from the airport you idiot, I haven't seen you in almost five bloody weeks."

Mycroft chuckled again as he lowered them back into the pillows and wrapping the arm that Lestrade wasn't gripping onto, around the detective inspector's shoulders.

"That wasn't necessary Gregory, I have my own cars as well you know. Besides-" 

He continued, stroking the silver hair at the nape of Lestrade's neck absentmindedly, 

"I hear Sherlock has been making you run around in resemblance of a headless chicken these last few weeks."

Lestrade hummed quietly, letting his eyes fall shut again at the gentle caress. 

"It wasn't that bad, we got the Hound- Well not a Hound actually, more of a deranged psychopathic power fiend- Hah sounds like you." 

He joked and laughed as Mycroft poked him in the rib in mock indignation. This was proof how much Mycroft had evolved from the 'Iceman' that the Adler woman had labelled him as to the more caring almost human that he was now.

"How is my brother?"

Lestrade had been calling Mycroft almost every other day with updates from London, and he had been shocked to discover how much he had missed the city and his life there, Moscow was lovely but it wasn't where Gregory was.

"Eh, crazy as usual. John said that he harpooned a pig before they went to Dartmoor. Did you get the photo I sent of him in the deerstalker?"

"I did indeed, it was very amusing."

"Yeah I don't think Sherlock found it that funny though."

Mycroft smiled tiredly in response, he hadn't realized how deep his need for sleep had become until he had put his head down on his pillow.

"Mycroft."

There was a hesitancy that he had never heard from Gregory before.

"Mycroft, is everything alright? I feel like... Like you're holding something back from me. You know you can trust me, you always can."

Mycroft lifted his head up back up to look at his other half who was staring at him now. 

"Of course, I am fine Gregory. I just have a few matters to think over, that is all." 

He laced their fingers together and squeezed Lestrade's hand in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

"Okay, if you're sure." 

The uncertainty eased a little as Lestrade shifted closer and laid his head on the shorter man's chest, smiling as he felt a kiss being pressed onto the top of his skull and allowing darkness to overcome him once more. Mycroft waited until he could hear the gentle even breathing that indicated Lestrade was asleep; then let out a long, resigned sigh. He hated lying to Gregory, but he knew… It would save his life.

 

_Rrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiingggg. ___

__"Urgh! Oh my God, make it stop!"_ _

__Lestrade pleaded as he turned away from Mycroft and attempted to block out the insistent noise coming from the other man's phone by snuggling further underneath the duvet. He caught a glimpse of the arrogant flashing green digits of the alarm clock signalling, 5:13. Great, less than two hours before he had to get up._ _

__"Mycroft Holmes."_ _

__He could hear the familiar sharp tone that Mycroft always used when he was unsure of whom he was speaking to. Poking his head out of his burrow, he watched as Mycroft grew paler, jaw clenching tightly as he listened to the caller on the other end._ _

__"I see."_ _

__Lestrade felt his stomach drop at those two words. Something was wrong. He placed a hand over Mycroft's, surprised to find it trembling slightly._ _

__"I see. When did this happen? No, of course... Where is he now? ...Yes, keep him there, do not let him out of your sight. I'll be over immediately."_ _

__Mycroft hung up and stared at Lestrade with abnormally wide eyes._ _

__"Mycroft?"_ _

__Now Lestrade was extremely worried, his lover had seemed to have gone into a sudden state of shock._ _

__"My, what's going on? Who was that?"_ _

__He questioned, reaching helplessly as Mycroft got out of bed and started to move around the room picking up his clothes, then stopping to stare at the garments in his hold with intense concentration._ _

__"Uh... That was Miss Hooper."_ _

__The breath in him left Lestrade in one great whoosh as the eldest Holmes brother let his façade down, face crumpling into a heartbreaking expression; He knew what was coming even before Mycroft opened his mouth. Why would Molly be calling them otherwise?_ _

__"Sher- Its Sherlock. He-He-He's dead Gregory."_ _


	2. Part Two

Mycroft rushed into the entrance of Bart's with Lestrade hot on his heels; almost crashing into the petite form of Molly Hooper.

"Mr-Mr Holmes...I'm so sorry- I, well they need you to identify the body. You're still listed as the next of kin on ICE form. John's here but-" She looked over her shoulder eyes scanning the large hallway full of what Lestrade expected were reporters. "He… He won't respond to anyone."

"Molly." 

Lestrade cut in, as gently as he could, even as the panic and despair rose to way over his capacity point. 

"Molly, where is John now?"

"Uh, the uh- Family room. I didn't know where else to put him." 

And there it was, Sherlock hadn't even been… Gone for twenty four hours and already John was being referred to and treated as a piece of lost property; God, but maybe he was. After all he had just lost the person who had been his whole reason for living the last year and a half.

"Right." 

He glanced at Mycroft standing beside him, noting how the man's face was once again a shuttered and unreadable mask.

"Do you… Want me to come with you, My?"

"No thank you."

Mycroft's voice could cut through glass and Lestrade stood there helpless once again, as his partner strode off toward the morgue in determination. Molly bit her lip and shot Lestrade a quick look, before dashing off after him.

"Right. Okay,"

Lestrade muttered under his breath. 

"Excuse me dear? Are you alright?" 

Lestrade turned on his heel to see an elderly woman in a wheelchair approaching him. She stopped suddenly and smiled sadly. 

"I'm sorry, that was a stupid question. Why would that young man be going off to the morgue at six Am if everything was alright?"

Lestrade opened his mouth to reply but all that came out was a terrible choking noise. God, Sherlock, the annoying bloody bigheaded genius was gone, dead. He had actually left them, k-killed himself. His companion produced a tissue from her dressing gown pocket and handed it to him silently.

"My husband passed away last year." 

She continued after a long pause.

"Nobody saw it coming, sudden heart attack you see. We had been to the shops, and when we got home I went to pop the kettle on. When I had come back into the living room… He had just gone. Right there in his armchair." 

She snorted humourlessly.

"I thought it was because he didn't like the new curtains but didn't have the gall to spit it out." 

Her eyes were unfocused as if she was reliving that day. "'Betty, I'd die for a cuppa right now.' Those were Sam's last words to me. I called him a lazy sod." 

Betty, as Lestrade now found her name was; drew in a deep breath, bottom lip quivering slightly.

"I'll never speak to him again, and I called him a lazy sod. Do you know what the worse part is? I still believe it's true."

Lestrade blinked and cleared his throat to no avail. 

"I'm sorry for your pain...But why are you telling me this?"

"What was the last thing you said to your friend? I'm assuming the person in the morgue is your friend."

"I uh- I arrested him."

"Oh!"

Betty's eyebrows flew up in interest and she peered at him through her glasses.

"Was he a bad man?"

"No"

His voice dropped to a whisper and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly to stop the next flow of tears from arriving. 

"No, he isn't- wasn't a bad man. Not at all, but I allowed myself to believe that he was because it was easier than the alternative. And now he's … Not here, I could have prevented this! I could have fought harder but I bent under my boss's demand to jail him, and what's worse is that his brother means everything to me and he doesn't know what I did!"

It was a rush of words heavily accented with anger, pain and sorrow.

"He'll hate me if I tell him, and I can't lose him, I won't."

To her credit Betty listened to Lestrade's useless rambling patiently, and patted his knee in a comforting way when he had finished. 

"I know it may seem unlikely right now." 

She whispered back gesturing for Lestrade to lean in closer to her. 

"But nobody has done something so bad that it cannot be forgiven. Please promise me that young man, if this gentleman means everything as you say he does, you will remember that."

With that she patted his knee again and wheeled off down the corridor, leaving Lestrade standing behind, gaping in awe at the woman. However, the sound of heavy footsteps coming from behind made Lestrade snap out of his trance, and turning his head he only just managed to catch a glimpse of the back of somebody exiting the building and slumping against a brick wall next to the doors, for support.

"Mycroft!" 

He ran outside in search of the man, but he had gone.

 

"This is Mycroft Holmes, please leave a message." _Beeeeep. ___

__"Damn it!"_ _

__Lestrade cursed loudly earning a few shocked glances from a young family entering the hospital carrying bunches of flowers._ _

__"Sorry."_ _

__He murmured and hit dial again._ _

__"C'mon My, please just pick up. I need to know where you are."_ _

__He chanted to himself as he got to the voice mail recording again; _I need to know what you heard of my conversation. _____

____"This is Mycroft Holmes, please-"_ _ _ _

____"Yeah well screw you too!"_ _ _ _

____This time Lestrade didn't care who saw or heard him as he hung up and hit the back of his head none too gently against the brick wall._ _ _ _

____"Um… Detective?"_ _ _ _

____Molly was suddenly standing besides him, hands fidgeting in her pockets and glancing at the ground._ _ _ _

____"Molly please, just call me Greg."_ _ _ _

____"Um okay, Greg. I was wondering…. Do-Do you want to see the body?"_ _ _ _

____Lestrade froze in his shoes. Did he want to see the body?_ _ _ _

____The body of Sherlock Holmes?_ _ _ _

____The body of the most clever man he had ever met?_ _ _ _

____The body of the man who needed his help as much Lestrade needed his, even if he never admitted it?_ _ _ _

____The body of the man he let fall to his death? Literally._ _ _ _

____But somebody had told him that John had watched Sherlock actually jump of the roof of that same damn hospital, he didn't take his eyes off of him even though his heart must have been breaking along with Sherlock._ _ _ _

____"Yes Molly, I would like to say goodbye to Sherlock."_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____It wasn't like this was the first time that Lestrade had set foot inside the morgue. No matter how desperately he wished he couldn't, he could map out the four corners of this room in his sleep. The familiar icy feeling seeped through his bones as he stepped closer to the metal table on which an inanimate body was lying, half covered by a blanket. He had seen distraught widows, families falling apart at the seams on the very spot in which he was standing. But never in all of his twenty plus years of detective years had he ever entered this place knowing that he was going to be faced with somebody from his personal relationships let alone an almost friend._ _ _ _

____"Greg, are you sure you're okay with this?"_ _ _ _

____Molly appeared at his elbow looking surprisingly calm and at peace with the situation._ _ _ _

____"I-God."_ _ _ _

____One look at the bloody unrecognisably mangled face sent him reeling backwards again, unable to stop himself from pressing a hand against his mouth in an attempt to control the strong wave of nausea flowing through him at the sight._ _ _ _

____"Why? Why would you do this? Sherlock, please!"_ _ _ _

____His voice was growing louder and a couple of other pathologists were shooting him worried looks._ _ _ _

____"Greg, come on."_ _ _ _

____Molly tried to tug on Lestrade's arm but to no avail as he lunged forwards again, hands flying up to grip at the stiff shoulder blades._ _ _ _

____"You bastard! How could you? Why? Why would you leave John here all alone? And Mycroft!"_ _ _ _

____His phone beeped in his pocket at that moment, and in his anger he pulled it out and hurled it at the wall before storming out, letting the heavy door slam behind him. Molly sighed as she went over to retrieve the detective inspector's phone which was lying screen down on the tiles. Turning it over, she smiled slightly as she saw the message flash across the screen before pressing the delete button like the sender would have instructed her to do._ _ _ _

____**Mycroft will be fine. As long as you feed him cake at regular intervals, he will soon forget all about me. -SH ******_ _ _ _


	3. Part Three

Mycroft fidgeted in his chair uncomfortably. He was used to travelling by private jets not waiting for an hour before he had to check in, in a crowded airport. If Sherlock were here, he would be scoffing at the snobbery of his older brother, laughing at his awkward appearance, sniping about his pathetic escape from the person he loved the most; but he wasn't and Mycroft had failed at his brotherly duties once again, and for the final time. He had tried to care for Sherlock the best he could when he was allowed to do so and to his credit he hadn't done everything wrong.

At the sound of his phone beeping, probably Gregory leaving another message about his whereabouts; he went to press voicemail. Sure enough the strained voice of the Detective Inspector could be heard and with a weary sigh, he deleted the message, better to cut all ties.

"Is this seat taken?" Mycroft looked up to see a young male, student going by the state of his jeans and hoodie. He had dark blond wavy hair and warm brown eyes, but there was something vaguely familiar about the way he held himself, not slouched over like many other young adults. Judging by his accent he was Canadian.

"Please, be my guest." He replied smoothly, removing his leather holdall off of the seat and allowing his new acquaintance to sit down.

"Thank you." The two men sat in compatible silence for a while; Mycroft tapping out messages to Anthea to tell her that he needed to get away for an undecided amount of time and the student fiddling around with his ipod. The ringtone that Gregory had assigned for himself a couple of months ago broke through the quiet abruptly and he winced sharply. He should get this over and done with.

"Mycroft Holmes."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the student's pale eyebrows rise curiously in response to the introduction. He bit back a smirk and focused in on what Gregory was saying.

"Mycroft! Oh thank God, My. I've been worried sick, where the fricking hell are you?"

"Gregory, you need to calm down."

"Calm down! Calm down? Mycroft your bloody little brother just died, and you're nowhere to be fucking found!"

"There is nothing that I can do to be of assistance there, it is better this way."

"Nothing… You can do? My, what? Seriously, please just tell me where you are."

"I'm at the airport Gregory."

"Oh, you uh have a business meeting. Right, this soon afterwards. Guess this means you'll be missing the funeral."

"No. No,Gregory. Not a business meeting. I'm- I'm leaving London, I have to start again."

The silence on the other end of the phone was heartbreaking.

"Gregory?"

_Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. ___

__He had hung up. Not that Mycroft blamed him, not at all._ _

__

__"No. No, Gregory. Not a business meeting. I'm- I'm leaving London, I have to start again."_ _

__The mobile fell from the unresponsive hand that was grasping it before, as Lestrade's knees buckled from underneath him. Start again? Mycroft was leaving him, the very same day that Sherlock had died? He had to have heard Lestrade telling Betty that he arrested Sherlock the night before he jumped. There was no other reason, they were happy for God's sake! Maybe, maybe he just needed some time alone to get over Sherlock's death and then he would be back. He had to tell himself that was the truth, he had to. Otherwise he had nothing to live for._ _


	4. Part Four

Nobody had checked on John for a few hours now. As much as Lestrade wanted to go home, curl up in bed and not wake up until Mycroft returned; he felt that he had a duty to Sherlock and he should take care of the grieving partner of the deceased consulting detective. Entering the family room, he spotted the ex-army doctor immediately. John was sitting away from the other doctors, patients, and family members milling about; staring at a white wall with his hands clasped tightly in his lap and his skin so pale that Lestrade could almost see the veins in his neck from where he was standing. He walked over to the doctor slowly and placed a hand gently on the shaking shoulder.

"John?"

"Sherlock!" 

John's head shot round, his dark blue eyes wide as they fixed on Lestrade's face.

"No, John. Uh It's Greg."

"What? Greg, where's Sherlock? He was here two minutes ago."

"John… Sherlock's not here. He's d-gone."

"Why would you say that? That isn't true! He's here! He is!"

"John." 

Lestrade murmured as the doctor started to become more hysterical.

"No, go find him and tell him to bloody get back here!"

"I can't. He's dead John!"

"Stop it! Stop telling lies!"

So involved in the distressing conversation, the two men did not notice the figure of a tall man lurking in the doorway, as he watched the interaction with sad pale eyes and then moved away stealthily into the shadows once more.

 

"Okay, easy there mate watch your step." 

Lestrade ordered John gently as he urged the catatonic shorter man inside of his apartment. He couldn't let John go back to 221B alone, especially when he was in denial about Sherlock's death. Besides Mrs Hudson had been devastated when Lestrade had notified her, Molly was with her now so there wasn't any chance she could take care of John in such a fragile state.

"Here you go, sit down for a bit."

He deposited John onto the leather sofa, trying to studiously ignore the disappearance of the black binded folders that had been sitting on the coffee table. He left the doctor staring miserably into space again as he went to the kitchen to pop the kettle on. When in shock, he had found the best remedy was a strong cup of tea with sugar in, he thought that maybe he should make John some toast but it would go wasted and he didn't have an appetite either. 

"Here we are nice cuppa."

He re-entered the living room and placed the mug down in front of the other man. John glanced down at the object and picked it up, wrapping his hands around the heated china. At least he could react to some things Lestrade let out a barely audible sigh of relief, fidgeting uncomfortably as he stood watching over the doctor.

"You don't have to baby-sit me." John's voice was gruff, the first words that he had spoken since their argument at Bart's.

"That's- That isn't what I'm doing."

"No? What do you call this then? Strategic Ops?"

"John, you're my friend. You just saw something…. Nobody ever should witness"

"Greg I was in Afghanistan, I've seen people blown up for no reason at all."

_Not the man that you love though. I could never imagine your pain, at least Mycroft isn't dead. ___

__Lestrade stopped then and rethought the last statement. But he might as well be_ _


	5. Part Five

Paris had never been Mycroft's favourite place in the world. It was mildly appealing to the government official but it had been Gregory's idea to spend a month travelling. He had pestered Mycroft every waking minute to book time off of work until he gave in, and the capital of France was their first stop. The eld- No, the only Holmes brother now, wandered down the cobbled side streets from his hotel towards the River Seine smiling sadly to himself. He had been here on a meeting the first time he had spoken to Gregory about Sherlock, five years ago.

The detective inspector wanted to know if the then twenty five year old and addicted to cocaine consulting detective was for real; Mycroft assured him that yes he was indeed being serious about his deductions, and then preceded to creep the Scotland Yard worker out even further by stating that if he was adamant on remaining married he should spend less time at the office.   
Not that Mycroft was spying on Gregory of course, just keeping a watchful eye on him every other day.

"Bugger off, if I wanted to be belittled I'd invite Sherlock over!" 

Had been Gregory's response to that and Mycroft had to bite his lip to restrain a chortle which then made him speechless for about a minute. Hardly anybody made him even smile genuinely let alone laugh. And that was the beginning of them, but now this was the end and Mycroft was back here, lonelier and emptier than ever before. He had lost the two people he loved most in this lifetime; His brother who he had always felt more of a father towards but couldn't even tell when he needed help, and his soul mate whom had just had his heart shattered to pieces by him.

Reaching the riverside, he took a seat on a patch of grass, not paying attention to his expensive trousers getting stained and cast an eye out over the water. Crowds of people on boats, laughing and talking, oblivious to all the pain stirring inside of him. Obviously they had no idea; it was hardly likely that they had played a massive part in their younger sibling's suicide. He propped his chin on a hand and stared moodily out into the distance, unaware of the shadow passing over him.

 

 

Lestrade knew that he shouldn't have drunk those JD on the Rocks before he went to bed, but there was nobody there to tell him not to. John had finally nodded off into a restless sleep at about one AM after over a week of just sitting on the detective inspector's sofa, napping in the daytime for only an hour at a time; and now it was just gone past three with only the silence to keep him company. Before he knew what, his hand was reaching for the telephone beside the bed and dialling in the number he knew off by heart.

"This is Mycroft Holmes, please leave a message." 

_Beeeeep. ___

__"Mycroft its Greg-Hic- Gregory. You know the boyyyyyyyyfrieend. Well, not the boyfriend anymore, but whatever. I'm not drunk. Well maybe a little bit, you never like when I drank more than one a night do you? But I'm lonely- All aloooone. I guess-Hic- it's a trademark of the Holmes's, you leave without a trace when things don't go the way you want them to. What'd I do Mycroft? All I did was love you, how can that be wrong? I still love you, I doooo, I do. You've only been gone ten days, it isn't too late. Or I might move on, I think Molly likes me. She talks to me more often now; maybe she's lonely as well. Huh we could keep each other company. Anyway I'm sleeeeepppyyy and I have work at noon, I just- Just wanted to leave you this message to say that I'm not angry at you for missing Sherlock's funeral he wouldn't have wanted the fuss after all. Uh so goodnight, toodle pip, cheerio, My. I love you."_ _


End file.
